


A Strange Attonement

by KangKorandKoloth



Series: A Series of Firsts [5]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lemon, Make up sex, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangKorandKoloth/pseuds/KangKorandKoloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 4 of a series of firsts. First Argument</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange Attonement

**Author's Note:**

> Part Four of a series of Firsts. Next part will be up sometime in early September and will be a meet the parents aftermath type thing.

She had come to make amends. Instead, Nanao found her lips monopolized by Shunsui’s the second she tried to add weight to her hastily murmured apology. She liked that, in those seconds, wanting it more than she’d even realized. Overcome by split second instinct and the smolder in his gaze.

She was bruised and battered, emotionally rather than physically, a situation of both their making. Soothed by his actions, she felt him draw her close, walking them towards the wall, capturing her, not wanting to let her go.

“Forgive me, precious Nanao-chan”

He whispered those words into the crook of her neck, hot lips searing against a body frozen from the winter chill. Forgiveness was something for later; she had her own faults to admit to as well, but for now she allowed him. His hands reached for her desperately, she pulled him even closer, wanting to move towards the couch or a chair, anywhere more comfortable that the wood paneling against her back. 

The bruised sensation was fading, wound sutured, healing. Her eyes were no longer heavy as lead or sore, the tears from earlier now irrelevant. She closed her eyes as he worked, sighing into him despite not being his biggest fan right now. It didn’t matter, emotions could be fickle things, easily changed if the right reason was given. 

This would be the first of many arguments. A big one certainly; sending a tidal wave of shock rolling across her as tempers flared, blazing into overdrive. Nanao had uttered sentences she hadn’t even thought herself capable of. However, although it felt like it, it wouldn’t be the worst storm they’d weather over the years. There would be so much worse to come and yet they would still stand tall.

Far from today, alone in her old age and looking back, she would recall how much she hated it when they quarreled. The pained, hangdog look his face would wear, aged him beyond his years and she became filled with a sickening anger that robbed her of her usual eloquence. The ability to form a cohesive response replaced with the desire to scream and shout. Her heart would break for the two of them knowing more often than not they were both as bad as one another. His voice would always hold the closest thing to defeat she’d ever hear from him when they fought.

She couldn’t remember the remark that started it and, as he progressed, hands untying the sash at her waist, tossing it to one side as if it was nothing more than an irritation to him, those words were no longer important, mere memory. For something so easily dismissed, it had sent a stiletto like shard of anger straight to her core. The biteback, that retaliation had been hers and hers alone, they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for their next remarks.

They’d sparred verbally not a sword in sight. The back and forth of statements, blow and parry, attack and defend each one more furious than the last. The final blow went to her. He’d asked her to be reasonable; instead she’d delivered a parting shot, one that had seemed so clever in the heat of the moment. The furthest thing from reasonable and it sent him towards the door, a flurry of pink striding down the corridor and out to who knows where.

She’d never seen him do that. Not once. Not ever. He was one to stay and face down the fight. Nanao had seen him do it with his fellow captains, even if it was through gritted teeth, hands discreetly tugging through hair in frustration, he would rather clear the air than turn tail. But not with her, not this time anyway. He would explain himself; later after all this was done, wrapped in his haori, clinging to each other. They would talk and it would all become clear. For now this would do. Not that she planned to let him think he could placate her so easily; kisses that turned her soul to ashes did not an apology make.

He noticed her discomfort, scooped her up and away, moving over to the rug, laying her down with reverence. He slid away her clothes, frigid air hitting her body, making her shiver. His haori and kimono were next, shrugged off, tossed away, undivided attention on her. 

His lips, those kisses, dove down to her bones, her very being writhing against him, filling a void that she’d felt so keenly in the hours he’d been gone. The office was too quiet without him. She missed his idle chatter, the odd touch; those general affections that got her through the day.

He’d once told her, before all this, when he was still trying to win her over; that the making up was the best part of arguing. A lover’s spat as he’d called it. She’d dismissed him at the time, calling him sleazy, inappropriate. He’d laughed at her, chiding her for being mean, saying she’d know what he meant one day. Now she did. He was right, this was almost worth the hours of worry she’d endured.

She found the wherewithal to reciprocate; her lips spared for long enough for her to utter declarations of her own, telling him how she hoped there'd never be another time like this one, pulling his hair tie, watching it fall to the floor, his hair cascading down much to her enjoyment. She slowly undid the obi at his waist beginning to reduce him to the same state as she; before he regained himself, nipping at her clavicle hands gripping her hips nails digging in to curves of flesh and bone.

He excited her, the worry and anxiety replaced with expectation and he sunk lower, stopping to caress where he knew she was most sensitive. Upping the game, knowing her responses well enough by now to realize she couldn’t get much higher. Nanao gripped his shoulders; holding on, breathing in the scent of cologne and sake. His hands around her waist, the hot welt of his mouth against her made her breath quicken, body trembling, unable to stifle a moan.

He stopped, withdrew, she willing him to continue, instead finding those talented lips against hers once more. She broke away, not wanting him to have it all his own way, resting against his chest, softly kissing, then biting, teeth glancing against him, in a spot exposed enough so that he would be forced to wear his collar a little higher in the days that followed, not relishing the idea of explaining the tell-tale mark to his comrades. The price of this atonement, she thought.

“Nanao-chan is going to get me into trouble” he murmured, hand tracing where she’d been “such a wicked thing”

“Not now”

She didn’t want to hear his teasing, at least not for the moment. He could do that all he wanted once they were through. Words were what had started this anyway; she wasn’t interested in a second bout. It was done and dusted. 

The silence was sacred, both of them lost in each other’s actions, she taking advantage of his preoccupation, to lavish attention upon him. Her strokes dipped and traced along contours that were so familiar to her now, movements coquettish, the looked this derived from him exquisite. Nevertheless she felt him react, a groan of satisfaction reaching her, mouth moving against her in agreement, practically begging her to continue. She didn’t. Instead, choosing to raise her hips,aligning the two of them, knowing she could wait no longer. He took the invitation and they moved as one. Their actions a perfect symmetry, relinquishing them of any pain and sorrow. A strange atonement she thought, but in the heat of the moment, slipping into dizzying ecstasy, the most appropriate way for this to play out.

He sensed this too, she realized as they sped towards conclusion; more promises and apologies whispered to her in adoring stanzas. For the most part he would keep to those words. Until the next time. Until he whole cycle began again in earnest. Then, they would tear each other down and rebuild; each time the finished product a variation on what was there before. Often finding the foundations had grown a little stronger, shored up in a way they wouldn't have been if not for the demolition. Variation didn’t have to be a bad thing.

She would always hate the arguments; and, as they lay together; him holding onto her for dear life more kisses dancing across her skin for good measure, Nanao knew she would never get used to them. The making up, the rebuild, was worth it in the end though. He had never been so right.


End file.
